


Scenario 17

by rideswraptors



Series: Kastle Scenarios [17]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, see first part for warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 21:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors
Summary: “Frank Castle is dead. Despite what you see in the movies, ghosts can’t kill people.”Yeah.So Frank’s not dead.





	Scenario 17

She didn’t know he’d decided to do something about it. She could have guessed, Karen thought idly as she sat in an interrogation room, waiting for the detective to show up. She  _ could  _ have guessed, but she’d chosen to ignore it instead. Brett Mahoney pushed his way into the room, fuming, tossed a file in front of her she was obviously meant to open. Two men. Dead. Shot execution style between the eyes with a word carved on each of their foreheads. On the left one “Karen.” On the right “Page.” 

 

She sighed, letting her fingers drift over the images. Clean kill, she thought stupidly. She wondered if they had families who would mourn them. Kids, maybe. 

 

“Care to explain?” 

 

Pulled from her thoughts, she flicked her eyes up to Mahoney with all the condescension she could muster.

 

“Am I under arrest?” 

 

“Not yet.” 

 

“Then, no, I don’t care to explain.” 

 

“ _ Karen _ \--” 

 

She held up a hand to stop him. This was old and tired, and she was sick unto death of being dragged into police stations whenever these vigilantes got themselves into some bloody hijinks. She pointed a solitary finger down at the pictures. 

 

“I’m going to guess that these two are associated with Wilson Fisk?” she asked pointedly. It wasn’t much of a guess, actually. She knew it for a fact. 

 

“What do  _ you _ have to do with Fisk?” Brett demanded snappishly. She scowled because he already sort of knew the answer to that question. Then she sighed, shut the folder, and pushed it back across the table. 

 

“He’s been threatening me.”

 

“Why?”

 

Karen shrugged. “Read any of my dozens of articles lately? No idea.” 

 

“People don’t just threaten you for no reason.” 

 

Karen scowled and got up from her seat. “Yeah, they do. All of the time. Welcome to Hell’s Kitchen, detective. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.” She started for the door, but his voice stopped her in her tracks.

 

“We both know who did this, Miss Page.” She shouldered her purse and turned to face him, her expression a question he was supposed to answer. He tapped the folder. “This has the Punisher written all over it.” 

 

She pressed her lips together with a nod. 

 

“Frank Castle is dead. Despite what you see in the movies, ghosts can’t kill people.” 

 

“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? That he’s really dead? Not after this.” 

 

She took in a deep breath, trying to steady herself. 

 

“Death doesn’t require your belief, detective. Like I’ve told you a dozen times. He was shot in the head. Masked men dragged his body away. He wasn’t a monster, he was just a man. Human.” She turned and opened the door, making her way out finally. “Humans don’t survive bullets to the brain, in case you’re wondering. If you have any more questions, you call my lawyers.” 

 

*

 

Karen hailed a cab instead of walking home. Her feet felt too unsteady, and she didn’t want to risk getting jumped. That little stunt would cost her, no doubt. Fisk was not the kind of man to give up because of a couple of bodies and publicity. At the very least, the message was crystal clear: Karen Page was protected. She wondered how many more bodies would drop before this was all over. Too many.

 

Too many.

 

She overtipped her driver and stared at the door of her building before she went in. She let her eyes drift up to her window. Flowers. Pink tulips this time. Nice choice, wrong day. So up she went, looking for a battle she refused to lose.

 

Karen didn’t even have the door shut before she knew for certain he was there. Sometimes he left flowers in the window after leaving, he’d get called away suddenly and forget to remove them. At least she knew he’d been there. 

 

He was asleep on her bed, very obviously showered, his work boots neatly by the door and his work clothes folded on top of her dresser. Rarely did he make an appearance before 5:00 in the afternoon, but he’d been working an earlier morning shift on a construction job close by. 

 

Karen put her things aside and slipped off her heels, then went to sit on the bed next to him. She let her fingers card through his hair, thumb drifting over his skin for one quiet moment. Silently, he blinked his eyes open at her. Even a few months ago, he would have overreacted to her presence; would have leapt from the bed and drawn a weapon on her. This was major progress, to her mind. So she bent to kiss him, some of her irritation sloughing off her, left at the door. He kissed back, and that was improvement too. 

 

“Yer home early,” he commented absently. She hummed, fingers tracing over his face as she straightened. 

 

“Got a call from our favorite homicide detective today.” He rolled his eyes at that. Unsurprising. She shook her head at him. “You shouldn’t have done that.” 

 

Frank sat up in the bed, invading her space and looking her square in the eye.

 

“I’m not about to ignore threats on your life, Karen.” 

 

She lifted a hand to his face again, brushing over the few days of stubble there. He didn’t shave as frequently anymore. Kept his hair longer. He’d been out of the news and out of the public’s mind for quite some time. There were plenty of superhuman vigilantes to talk about without adding Frank Castle to the list. Besides, the only records of him left in existence were hard copies kept in enormous filing systems at newspapers across the country. You’d have to dig those out, and Karen wasn’t exactly positive even those existed any longer. 

 

None of that meant much to the people of Hell’s Kitchen. Walking the streets, you’d find white skulls blazoned on dumpsters and street signs. People carved them into doorways, put up pictures in their windows, like talismans to ward off evil. They even sold merchandise. Just on the streets, nothing official. Everyone knew whose territory it was, and thugs made themselves scarce. The Punisher was officially dead, but to the people of Hell’s Kitchen, his ghost patrolled their streets, looking out for them. Punishing. 

 

“I’m not asking you to,” she answered gently. “I’m asking you not to blow your cover over a couple of Fisk’s goons.” 

 

He settled against the headboard. “I hate that guy.” 

 

That pulled a laugh from her. “Join the club.”

 

His gaze on her was hard, appreciative, but it bore through her like she was paper thin. Matt had always seemed to see right through her, blind or not. But it was Frank Castle, the Punisher, who asked for explanations. He accepted her secrets. He accepted that he wasn’t permitted to have all of her all of the time. He accepted that she was rough around the edges and would not tolerate being put on a pedestal for more than a second. Matt didn’t accept any of that. 

 

“You gonna tell me what the hell you did to piss off a guy like Fisk?” he asked sharply. Annoyed, but not angry. He killed for her, to protect her, without question or remorse. But he would probe. She knew, instinctively, that if she said no, he would let the matter rest. He wouldn’t ask again. He’d kill again, sure, but he wouldn’t ask. That was how much he trusted her. Karen looked down at her hands. 

 

“There was a man, James Wesley. He was killed not too far from here a couple years ago.” He nodded, an encouragement to continue rather than comprehension. “He was the face to Fisk’s name. Ran all of his operations publicly, his right-hand man, you know? He kidnapped me.” 

 

“What-?” But she settled him with a hand to her chest.

 

“No one knows, okay? With good reason. Because...because he left his gun on the table. He didn’t think I’d…” She sighed. “He thought he had me. And he kept saying all of these horrible things.” She shook it off and looked him right in the eye. His were wide. Anticipating. “I shot him. Emptied the gun. I didn’t even think about it. I just picked it up and fired until I couldn’t anymore. It didn’t feel good. I puked on the way home.” She snorted softly, looking back down. “But at least I wasn’t afraid.” 

 

She felt his finger under her chin, gently lifted it up to him again. 

 

“Atta girl,” was his soft response. Karen flushed. Of all the damnable things, she flushed, more than a little pleased with his approval. “Red know?”

 

“No,” she answered with a forceful shake of her head. “I could never...he wouldn’t--”

 

Frank scoffed, “I’ve gotten the sermon, honey, you don’t have to tell me.” 

 

She wrinkled her nose at him. Matt was still a sore subject on all sides. Karen wanted to believe in him, wanted to trust him again, but she was still on a long journey back. He’d lied about who he was and what he was doing, he’d “died” and come back to life without telling her a damn thing. Every bit of information she got about him was from Jessica, of all people, and he still expected her to forgive him and move on. It wasn’t that simple. Maybe for Foggy, but not for her. Hell, Elektra wasn’t even the worst part of that whole narrative. 

 

“You deserve to know,” she reassured him. “But that doesn’t mean I need the Punisher’s ghost protecting me. I need Pete Castiglione to follow the rules and keep his head down, and Frank Castle to show up for dinner and sleep in my bed.” She grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her when he tried to look away. Not ashamed but frustrated. “ _ That _ is the life we made, Frank. Fisk and his bullshit doesn’t change any of that. You promised.”

 

“I know,” he growled out, eyes hollowing out. She knew he was about to see red. Knew that rage bubbled up in him dangerously. She leaned in to kiss him again, not satisfied until Frank was fully back to himself. 

 

“Leaving your calling card puts us both in the spotlight.” She made sure he was understanding her correctly. “The next one is  _ mine _ . No one is about to believe that some blonde from Vermont is capable of killing anyone. I can handle it. Do I make myself clear?” 

 

He saw his throat working to swallow. “Yes, ma’am.” 

 

Karen kissed him roughly once more. “Good. Get dressed so we can go get lunch. Brett had me there for  _ hours _ .” 

 


End file.
